


Tumblr ask: Gold Part III. Alfie's PoV

by MintJam



Series: Thoughts, asks, headcanons and ficlets [4]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23019076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintJam/pseuds/MintJam
Summary: Written in response to this tumblr ask:Just read the last chapter of Gold and it was amazing. I would LOVE to get Alfie's POV on that whole chapter. I mean if you had time.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Thoughts, asks, headcanons and ficlets [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540363
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	Tumblr ask: Gold Part III. Alfie's PoV

**Author's Note:**

> Like all of these little asks and headcanons, it's a bit quick and rough and ready. Certainly not a proper fic, but hope you enjoy.

Great idea! So this is basically an insight into Alfie’s head during [Gold Part III.](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F20976305%2Fchapters%2F49878380&t=MmE5MTc4ODA2ZGY3YmY4ZDM3MjdhZDFjNzA4NGU1NTBiYWUzMTk3YixiMjM1YTY0NWI3ZDgzNjc5NTc5MzYyNmRlOWU4YmYxNjVkMTliNDRk)The morning after that first night together … 

When Alfie wakes up and looks over at Tommy’s back he has no expectations at all. Because last night was pretty amazing, but it didn’t exactly go according to plan. Getting fucked … that was definitely _not_ what Alfie had had in mind. Still, he could hardly begrudge that little favour after Tommy had let himself go so beautifully now, could he? And yeah, Alfie’s gonna be feeling it all day, s’gonna be fuckin’ distracting innit? Being reminded of Tommy’s overwrought face every time he shifts in his fuckin' chair. 

Gotta get through this whole waking up in the same bed bit first though and there’s no telling how _that's_ gonna go, is there? Still, no point in putting it off. He reaches over to rest a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, just to test the water. He can’t help but be disappointed when Tommy flinches like he’s been burned, all tough and rigid beneath Alfie’s fingers—like a piece of dough left out too long. Which is a shame, because he softened up like a dream last night, let Alfie knead him until he was smooth and elastic and malleable as fuck. But maybe that’s the problem. Because an _over_ -kneaded dough makes a rock-hard loaf, don’t it? Alfie should bloody-well know. 

It’s little surprise when, after that, Tommy fucks off as quickly as possible. Not very original. And rude, quite frankly, but there are no rule-books for this type of encounter and it’s not like Alfie can remember the last time he fucked someone he hadn’t paid, so he tries not to take it to heart. Not to dwell on it.

But dwell on it he does. All day. He oscillates between extreme disgruntlement at the manners of _certain people_ and pathetic longing to repeat the encounter. He’s a cunt to Olly from the moment he arrives at the bakery until the moment he fucks off at four o’clock to go home and have a bath. Because on top of the _obvious_ soreness there are other aches and pains niggling at him, and not just the sciatica. He has cramp in his right hand after only a few signatures, fingers tightening up like a claw (thank god they didn’t do that last night). He decides to leaves his desk to go intimidate some of the workers instead. Except that wandering the bakery soon alerts him to the tightness in his shoulders and the ache in his back. Problems he wouldn’t have if he’d paid a little more attention to his own pleasure and a little less to someone else’s. 

When the door opens that evening he’s reheating the soup Edna’s made and yeah, he’s surprised to see Tommy standing there. His stomach tightens in anticipation but he’s not quite ready to throw his arms out in greeting. When Tommy starts mumbling about kitchens and second courses he can’t resist the urge to be difficult, despite the childish pout on that pristine face. He’s pretty sure that soup’ll be burning by now, but what’s one ruined supper compared to Tommy’s clear discomfort? He always was soft for pretty things. 

The loss of Edna’s oxtail pales quickly into insignificance when he feels Tommy’s lips on his neck. Now _that_ was unexpected—Tommy initiating physical contact (without any razor-sharp comments)—and fuck if he’s going to let that go to waste.

By the time he has Tommy naked, beneath him, his mind is focused on one thing, and one thing only. He wants that look on Tommy’s face again, that soft, overwhelmed look that’s so at odds with his usual polished facade. He wants Tommy to _want_ this. Which is why he makes him say it, say the words out loud, so that it’s not some sordid little secret, some threshold crossed by accident in the heat of the moment. 

“Fuck me,” Tommy says, with enough conviction to make Alfie growl. He knows there’s trepidation beneath the surface and he is going to expose it. He is gonna make Tommy open up and give in, admit to his own desires, take every bit of pleasure Alfie can give. He can’t help but stroke his fingers over one fine cheekbone; the defiant tilt of Tommy’s chin and the steely look in his eyes are so obviously for Alfie’s benefit and so obviously a front. It makes him feel tender and cruel at the same time. Tommy’s no timid virgin and yet just now, in this moment, Alfie can almost imagine he is. Which perhaps shouldn’t make him feel as predatory as it does, but who is he to care?

When Tommy lets him push his fingers back inside Alfie feels relieved as much as anything, relieved that he has been granted this privilege a second time. And aroused, _fucking_ aroused, because don’t Tommy just feel soft down there? Because of Alfie. He’s clearly still feeling last night, even if he’s trying not to let it show, but gradually relaxes—with the help of more oil and a slower touch—until he is melting under Alfie’s hands. Soft sighs and stifled moans are fluttering into the sheets and Alfie can’t help but kiss the smooth white skin of Tommy’s back. God he wants to keep him like this—pliant and needy—wants to work him until he’s pleading. But it seems that Tommy’s read his mind, his voice just slightly panicked as he whines out, “don’t you dare … don’t you dare do what you did last night … I can’t.” And that’s almost a challenge innit? Because of course, Alfie _can_ if he wants. But there’s something else he wants far more that he won’t let evade him tonight. 

A warmth engulfs Alfie, like a strong wind spreading a fire, a physical reaction to the rare and precious gift of skin and muscle and sweat. He pulls Tommy closer, squeezes him hard and still it’s not close enough; he lines himself up to press in, to make their bodies one for a few short minutes at least. He pauses, briefly, pinching hard on Tommy’s nipple, not to be cruel (although that’s what he’ll claim if pushed) but to distract from the burn he knows is coming. Perhaps he’s going soft in his old age, or perhaps the memory of yesterday is making him unusually empathetic. It’s certainly not because he doesn’t think Tommy can take it, because Tommy’s had far, far worse. But if Alfie was forced to be honest, then Tommy’s enjoyment is rather high up on his list of objectives for this evening. 

He needs to stop thinking about Tommy and start thinking about himself because otherwise this entire, delicious occasion will be nothing more than a memory (together with his pride). 

He stops again—conscious of the exaggerated stillness beneath him—and says something vaguely reassuring, (he’s not entirely sure what, because his mind is entirely focused on resisting the desire to bury himself to the hilt). Tommy is struggling and trying to hide it, Alfie knows ‘cause he’s been there himself. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is, Tommy’s attempt to mask his discomfort, to act as if this is _nothing_. And so, when Tommy urges him on, he doesn’t question the order, rather buries himself in those forbidden depths even if he knows it’s perhaps a bit soon. He’s only human afterall—and it feels too heavenly—although the scraped-raw expletive from Tommy’s lips might just send him straight to hell.

He pulls Tommy’s face round just to watch; to see if he looks as ravished as he sounds. Of course he fucking does, his cheeks are pink and his mouth is loose and Alfie wants to tell him so but instead he tightens his grip on Tommy’s jaw, one thumb pressed against his lips. And doesn’t Tommy just take it in, close his mouth around Alfie’s thumb and suck like a newborn babe? Two appendages wrapped in hot, wet heat is almost too much to bear. Tommy bites down hard, which is just as well, because the sudden pain is the only thing that holds Alfie’s resolve together. 

He wonders if Tommy’s doing it on purpose, if this elaborate display of submission is in fact an attempt at control. If it is then it’s fucking skilful, because if he asked right now then Alfie would give him the world. But no, he decides. This vulnerability isn’t something Tommy _gives_ it’s something Alfie _takes_. And if this is indeed an honest moment then Alfie wants to savour it.

They lay like that, locked together, unmoving until Alfie tries to extract his thumb, to get this back on track. But when Tommy sucks at it desperately, with a panicked little moan, Alfie doesn’t have the heart to deny him such a simple comfort. It ignites a fiercely protective instinct too, makes Alfie’s insides squirm and swell alarmingly. He starts to move again, to turn his mind back to more carnal pleasures. He starts slow, but Tommy responds and it’s not long before they’re fucking, properly fucking, before Alfie is making him move and moan in ways that he has only dreamt of. And still Tommy sucks his thumb. _Like a little suckling lamb_ , Alfie thinks, and then has to share that thought, has to whisper it into Tommy’s ear to see what reaction he gets. He knows enough to surmise that the words will shame Tommy, and that the shame will arouse him further. He isn’t disappointed. A flick of his wrist and a few careful strokes and he’s rewarded with Tommy spasming around him. Beautiful. Abandoned. It doesn’t take much until Alfie is joining him, silently spilling his seed. And Tommy takes it, doesn’t he, like a fucking gift, groans like he’s coming again. 

Afterwards, when they’re lying face-to-face and he’s ruthlessly teased Tommy and been thumped for his efforts, he wants to pull the man close. He settles for rearranging the pillows, for indulging an absurd inclination to make Tommy comfortable; to watch him doze and feed him sandwiches and grumble about the news. He wants to do it again. All of it. Wants to fuck him of course, but not only that, wants to lay side by side and listen to the shipping forecast and debate politics and just fucking … _be_ with this man. And that way lies heartbreak don’t it? But it’s not like he has any choice. Not like he’s gonna kick him out or turn him away or not ask to do this again. The bread’s been baked and he’s gonna fucking well eat it until every last morsel is gone. Or it moulds. Or gets stolen. Only time will tell.


End file.
